


The Witch

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Series: The Fate in the Flames [2]
Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Rome, Angst and Tragedy, Captor/Captive, Drama & Romance, F/M, Gratuitous liberties taken with historical accuracy, Historical Fantasy, Mildly Dubious Consent, Miðgarðr | Midgard, Original Character-centric, Power Dynamics, Pre-Thor AU, Prisoner of War, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Roman Empire, Smut, culture clash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 00:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: Over two decades before the God of Lies finds himself stranded on Midgard, a young Roman commander on a campaign of conquest meets his match in the form of a fiery little barbarian from the North.Prequel to The Gladiator.





	The Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A song for the story: [Artio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6TtEcPbsCrs) by Eluveitie.

In the beginning, Sabinus had thought of her as an enemy, and nothing more. 

He took his position as commander of the northern armies of Rome very seriously, and when the orders had come from the emperor to push further into barbarian territory, he had happily left his younger brother in charge of the family estate and journeyed northwards to join the front line. Though he considered himself quite adept at handling debates and assemblies, Sabinus had always been happiest when given the chance to  _ explore. _

There had been complaints, he learned when he arrived, of small raiding parties assaulting the more remote encampments; very few actual casualties had resulted, but a worrying amount of supplies had been lost. In the frigid cold and difficult-to-navigate terrain, he knew that such losses could add up to a crippling blow. None of the barbarians responsible had ever been caught, but they always seemed to use fire as their primary mode of destruction.

Sabinus decided to use himself as bait, excited for the opportunity to catch the uncatchable. Taking a quarter of one of his better cohorts north, he had pushed further into unfamiliar territory, making no effort to disguise their movements. Scouts had reported no barbarian villages in the immediate vicinity; if they wanted to vex him, a small, mobile raiding party would be their best choice. 

Then he had waited, going through the normal routines, sending out scouts and patrols to take stock of the surrounding area, having the soldiers train. Even if the camp  _ was _ intended to be bait, he certainly did not want the Northmen to realize it. The attacks always came during the night, so he had pairs of guards stationed in a perimeter around the encampment, hopefully unnoticeable to whatever barbarians were watching them. If things went right, they would come in, and not be able to come back out.

And he had known, with absolute certainty, that they were indeed being watched. He could sometimes feel eyes upon him, when he went out exploring the nearby woods, though he never managed to catch anyone in the act. After the first few days, he had began humming to himself when he went out alone, in order to paint an even bigger target on his back.  _ Come along, _ he thought,  _ try to catch me unawares. Come out and face me. _ But the temptation of his seemingly-vulnerable presence remained ignored.

Then one day, nearly a week and a half after he had set up his camp, Sabinus’s evening meal was interrupted by the sound of shouting and cursing. Emerging from his tent, he saw a struggle near the area where the horses were kept, and he had smiled, impressed. It was two hours before sundown; his adversary was clever, and he had changed up his raiding routine in order to avoid the nightly patrols. Clever, it seemed, but not clever enough to avoid capture.

He walked over to where the now-subdued Northmen were being held by angry-looking soldiers, not the least of which was Rufus, his second-in-command. The barbarian he held was small, no bigger than a boy, yet the tall soldier sported a rapidly-purpling bruise on the side of his face. Sabinus tried not to snicker, knowing how seriously the man took his pride. 

“What do you want us to do with this lot, Commander?” he said, giving the raider in his grip a rough shake. “This one managed to scare off five of the horses, and the rest were pilfering through the supply tents.”

Sabinus eyed the new prisoners carefully. There were only six of them; part of him was surprised to see such a small number, although he supposed it made sense for a group that was attempting stealth.  _ Where is their base? _ he mused. They were all dressed in heavy layers of fur and wool, and other than the boy Rufus held, they all looked sturdy and well-built, with thick beards and long hair. 

Nodding at the boy, he ordered, “Pull back his hood.” Rufus did so, and warm golden hair spilled into the evening sunlight. The culprit’s bright blue eyes, no longer in shadow, sparkled, as if their owner was laughing at some hidden secret. Suddenly uncertain, Sabinus reached forward himself, tugging down the scarf that hid the rest of the raider’s face.  _ Not a boy, then. _

“A girl?” Rufus cursed, and threw her to the ground. The other Northmen’s expressions remained stoic, but Sabinus noticed how they all tensed when she fell.  _ Interesting. _

“I confess that I am intrigued,” he said, watching their reactions. “Bring the girl to my tent.” The other Northmen eyed him suspiciously, clearly understanding none of his commands, but the girl’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Take the others to the pens and question them. I want to know where they are coming from, and why.”

Rufus handed him a small dagger. “The kitten’s claws,” he said sardonically. “Titus, escort the barbarian to the commander’s tent. I’ll deal with the rest of these savages.”

“Keep them alive, Rufus.”

“If you insist, Commander.”

The soldier Titus grabbed the girl by her collar and hauled her to her feet. “Move,” he said, and she obeyed without protest, sending the Northmen left behind a warning look.  _ Even more interesting, _ Sabinus thought.

When they reached his tent, he directed Titus to seat her upon one of the wooden trunks that he had been using as makeshift benches. Dismissing the soldier, he sat on one opposite her, wondering where to begin. Should he treat her as a woman, or as an enemy combatant?  _ Whichever works,  _ his mind suggested.

“Who are you?” he asked, expecting only a blank stare in response; what were the odds that a random barbarian girl from the northern wilderness knew the language of the empire.

The girl grinned at him, pointing emphatically at her chest. “Ego sum Alfrún,” she announced in perfectly clear, though heavily-accented Latin.  _ “Roman.” _

Sabinus blinked in surprise. “You are Alfrún?” he asked. “You speak Latin?” She snorted with laughter.  _ Right. _ He should’ve known better than to get excited. “What do you speak? Where are you from?” he tried, handing her a leather flask of water. “Where?”

She drank, pointing up in the air with her free hand. Sabinus stared in confusion. “You mean north?” he guessed.

The girl studied him a moment, then nodded. “Norðr.”

Well, that was not the most helpful information, considering he already knew that she was a northern barbarian, but at least the dialect she seemed to use was somewhat-familiar to him. It would have to do. “From the North?” he asked haltingly, wincing at his own pronunciation, which he recognized was very poor.

Her eyes lit up. “You can speak,” she said.

“Yes,” Sabinus replied, a bit irritated at the implication that his own language apparently did not count as ‘speaking.’ “Why are you here?”

Standing, she looked down at him with amusement, dropping the empty flask in his lap. He did not understand why she bothered; all he needed to do was stand, and he would tower over her again. “Why are  _ you _ here, Roman?” she asked.  _ “Örlendr.”  _

Sabinus frowned. “What does that mean?”

She smirked. “Not from here.”

“Ah.” He supposed that from her point of view, he was the one out-of-place. “You were watching the camp.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The girl ignored him, seeming to enjoy making him look up to meet her eyes. “Your name?”

“Sabinus.”

“I like it,” she declared. “Sebbi.”

_ I did not ask for your approval,  _ he thought, rising to his feet. This close, it was even more evident how small the barbarian was, despite all of her heavy clothing and voluminous waves of hair. There was something vaguely impish about her look; perhaps it was because of the way her bright blue eyes constantly sparked, as if she were contemplating mischief. 

Rufus barged into the tent then with several soldiers, interrupting them, and the girl took a step back, hand dropping to the belt at her waist where her dagger had been. “Any luck with this one, Sabinus?” the man asked, shaking snow out of his hair. “None of the others will say anything of importance.”

“No,” he replied. “She does not understand enough Latin to be useful, and my Northerner is rusty.”

“Oh, I am certain that she understands well enough to be  _ useful,”  _ Rufus chuckled, coming closer to examine her. “Is that not so, bitch?”

Sabinus was not certain if the girl understood the insult, but she certainly understood the look and the tone, and her lip curled into a snarl. “Slyðra.”

“What did she say?”

“I am not certain, Rufus. I do not think she likes you.”

The soldier did not seem to be bothered in the slightest. “Want me to have a go at her?”

Though she maintained an arrogant sneer, Sabinus could see how her tension had increased the moment the other men had entered the tent. “No,” he said, studying her carefully. “I will keep her here. I do not want her conspiring in the pens with the others; I think she may be the leader.”

“The  _ leader?”  _ Rufus guffawed. “This girl? If you want to keep her for a tumble, commander, you only need say so. No need for excuses.”

Sabinus sighed. “I have heard of women warriors among the barbarians before,” he said. “It is a possibility.”

“If you say so, sir. Have fun  _ examining _ her.” With another rude laugh, he turned and left, taking his guards with him.

The girl frowned. “What did that man say?” she asked.

How much should he tell her? There was always the chance that she understood more than she let on, that she was trying to mislead him into underestimating her. Sabinus had not become one of the premier commanders in the empire by underestimating anyone. Perhaps fear would unsettle her into revealing something. Grabbing a fistful of golden hair, he pulled her close. “He says I should make use of you,” he informed her cooly. “That I should take you.”

She peered up at him apprehensively. “As a slave?”

Making a show of perusing her form, he smiled. “In a way.”

“In what way?”

Was she calling his bluff? Sabinus could not tell, although she certainly seemed nervous enough. “Bedding you,” he clarified, observing with satisfaction and a hint of guilt when her eyes widened in fear.

“Do not.”

“Why?” he taunted, giving her a rough shake. “Is the fearsome warlord a maiden?” Her lips pursed, and he studied her face for any hint of repudiation. “That is the truth, is it not? You led those Northmen here, barbarian.”

“I am no one,” she replied stubbornly. 

He shrugged, forcing her back a few steps nearer to his cot. “That is fine. I do not need you to be someone for you to keep me warm at night.”

_ “Stop, _ Sebbi,” she hissed, trying to pry his hand free from her hair. “What do you want?”

Sabinus halted. “Tell me why you came here, to our camp.”

She huffed, glaring up at him. “I came to destroy,” she said.

“How?”

The girl smirked slightly, despite the tension in her body. “With my hands.” She looked like she meant it. 

Sabinus heaved a frustrated sigh, shoving her back towards the cot. “Sit,” he ordered, retrieving rope. It was almost a surprise when she complied, though he felt her eyes studying him as he knelt in front of her. “Give me your wrists. Struggle, and I swear to the gods, you will regret it.”

Her gaze rested heavily upon his head as he bound her wrists snugly, then hobbled her ankles; he did not trust her not to try to run, even with her hands captured. “You are my prisoner,” he told her, fastening the end of the rope to one of the tentpoles. “You are a prisoner of Rome. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” she muttered.

“Sleep, Alfrún,” Sabinus said, tossing a blanket at her. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Ignoring her glare, he extinguished the lamps in his tent, crawling under the covers on his cot. “Sleep well,” he heard her say after a moment.  _ “Roman.” _

 

* * *

 

He awoke just before dawn to shouts of panic, and the first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes was that the girl was nowhere to be seen, her tether apparently cut loose during the night. “Alfrún!” he roared in anger, running from his tent.

Two of the supply tents were already ablaze, and his men were scrambling to salvage what they could. “Do not let the prisoners escape!” he shouted, hurrying to find his own lost barbarian before someone else found her and killed her. Some instinct led him around to the forest side of the encampment, where he found her crouching behind another tent, whispering intently into her palm. She looked quite mad. “Stop, woman!” he yelled, racing towards her.

The girl jumped upright, and he saw a flicker of flame catch on the canvas of the tent. “Sorry, Sebbi!” she called out, turning and sprinting into the dark of the forest.

Sabinus cursed, torn between offering pursuit and dealing with the fire. He chose the fire, gathering handfuls of snow to smother it before it could truly begin, feeling his anger burn alongside it. He  _ had _ underestimated her, and he had no doubts that she would be back. Next time, he would be ready.

 

* * *

 

He was not ready, the next time he saw her. The camp was moving further north along the river, and he had gone scouting in the forest, enjoying the moment of solitude away from the hustle and bustle of the soldiers. Suddenly, a weight crashed into him from nowhere, and he found himself flat on his back in the snow, a wickedly thin blade at his throat.

Tugging down the cloth that covered her face, his assailant looked down at him with a cheeky grin. “Hello again, Roman.” Sabinus tried to make a move quickly, while she was off-guard, but he felt the knife dig in deeper, and he froze. “Do not try, Sebbi,” she warned, shifting her weight, and suddenly he was struck with an overwhelming awareness that the pretty barbarian was straddling him, her thighs pinned firmly against his hips.

There was little he could do until she relaxed her hold on the knife. “Hello, Alfrún,” he said, swallowing carefully. “How have you been?”

She laughed in delight at his casual tone, though her hand, thankfully, remained steady. “Your camp moves north,” she said. “Where is your destination?” He said nothing, and she leaned forward, pressing herself more firmly against him. “Must I  _ bed _ you for answers?” she asked, brow quirked.

Sabinus exhaled sharply, not at all expecting such a threat. “You are more than welcome to try.”

The girl’s expression fell, and he could have sworn he saw a hint of a blush. “I would not do so,” she retorted. “I have honor.”

“As do I.” 

Tsking, she shook her head. “Romans have no honor.”

“Not even me? I am hurt.”

Her smile, framed by the snowy branches and blue sky above her, was blinding. “We will see.”

“Will you move the knife?”

“No. You are stronger. I know  _ my _ strengths, soldier.”

“Your strength is ambushing men from trees?”

She nodded sagely. “Did it not work?”

“It did,” he conceded. “But now what will you do with me?”

Her expression became stern, though he could still see the teasing in her eyes. “You are  _ my _ prisoner,” she said. “You are a prisoner of Alfrún. Do you understand?”

Sabinus recognized his words from their last meeting, and he felt his temper stir. “You mock me?”

“Yes. Where does your camp journey?”

“North.”

Alfrún sighed in irritation, and he tried not to react as she shifted her weight again. “I know. Be more exact.”

“No.”

She frowned, and as he lay there in the snow with nothing to study but her face, he noticed how pretty and plump her lower lip was. The girl had a perfect Cupid’s bow, really; she was quite lovely to look upon, for a barbarian.

“Listen,” he said, “my men are all around here, and they will be looking for me soon. You should release me now.”

Shrugging one shoulder carefully, she replied, “Maybe my men are all around, as well.”

_ There it was. _ He  _ knew _ she was the one behind all of this. “I do not think so,” he said, watching her expression carefully. “I think that you are the type of commander who likes to be on the front lines, is that not so? _ I  _ think that you are trying to gather information, alone, so that you can plan a rescue for your men.”

The girl smiled ruefully. “Smart man, Sebbi,” she conceded. Her grip on the knife still had not wavered, and Sabinus felt his back going numb from the cold. How could he get back on top? It would be best if he was in control of the situation before any of his soldiers appeared, or they might simply shoot her. Quick though she was, he doubted that the little barbarian could dodge an arrow.

“Why do you call me that?” he asked. She seemed to enjoy friendly chatter; perhaps he could disarm her with that.

“Your Roman name sounds so  _ formal,” _ she declared, nose wrinkling. “And we are friends, are we not,  _ Sabinus?” _

It was almost a shock to hear her actually say it; he had assumed that it was too difficult for her to pronounce. “You do not seem very friendly now,” he pointed out. 

“It is war.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

A few of her long braids slid over her shoulder as she studied him, tickling his cheek. Sabinus felt that he could not blink; her gaze was piercing, as if she were seeing something beyond. “The Norns led you to me, Roman,” she said after a moment, eyes more solemn than he had ever seen them before. “I intend to know why.” Then the pressure of the knife blade suddenly abated, and she sat back on her haunches, still hovering over him.

Slowly, he sat up, his frozen muscles screaming in protest, their faces only inches apart. She was breathing a bit quickly, her warm breath fogging in the frosty air. “Are you frightened?” he asked. 

“No. Should I be?”

“Yes.”

The girl opened her mouth to reply, but halted at the crackling sound of broken branches not far off in the distance. With a slightly apologetic smile, she sprang to her feet and dashed off into the forest once again, light footsteps making almost no noise. 

Groaning, Sabinus pushed himself to his feet, brushing snow from his clothing. What should he tell his men when they arrived? He had come to think of Alfrún as something of a pet project, and as much as he wanted her captured and the threat she posed negated, the thought of the light in her eyes being snuffed out filled him with an odd sense of distaste. Her small footprints made a clear trail leading off into the woods, and he frowned, deciding to leave the scene of the crime. 

He met up with the patrolling soldiers a short distance away, and they were clearly concerned by his disheveled, snow-covered appearance. “It is nothing,” he reassured, holding up his palm. “I came across a barbarian skulking through the forest, but he fled when he heard you approaching.”

“Shall we give pursuit, Commander?” one of them asked, clearly itching for action.

“No, it could very well be a distraction. A lone man does not merit such concern.” 

As he accompanied them back to the encampment, Sabinus wondered how to deal with this newest little problem of his. Alfrún was persistent, he could see; he needed to get his hands on her as soon as he could, to get this situation under control. The rumors of some powerful barbarian witch were already spreading through the ranks like wildfire, and many of his men were terribly superstitious. 

Either that, or he needed to frighten her so badly that she took whatever forces she had and retreated. The latter did not seem to be a likely outcome.  _ Capture her, then, _ he thought, resigned. But how?

 

* * *

 

Apparently, the little barbarian had the same thoughts in regards to him. For two weeks, he saw no sign of any wandering Northmen, and none of the encampments were touched. The prisoners in his camp continued to maintain their stoic silence. He’d tried questioning them himself, even mentioning her name; it had earned him angry glares, but not much else. It seemed that they were all playing a waiting game.

He kept up his scouting trips into the forest, preparing for their next push forward, but secretly hoping that he would run into her again. Sabinus was waiting for an ambush from above, and though he did not openly examine the trees overhead as he walked, he listened carefully for the tell-tale rustling of branches.

That is why, when she suddenly stepped out from behind a thick tree and directly into his path, he was taken entirely by surprise. “Alfrún,” he said, stepping closer to her. “Have you come to surrender?”

“Ah, Sebbi, I have not. It would be wise for you to do so, I think.”

Sabinus prepared himself to lunge, noting how far her hand was from the dagger at her waist, but the girl whistled, and three men slipped out from behind surrounding trees, dressed in grey and white, bows drawn. Raising his hands, he exhaled sharply. “I thought you said that we are friends.”

“We are. That is why you are alive. Come.” She beckoned, and Sabinus weighed his options. He was severely outmanned, and if he tried to fight or flee, he would most likely end up full of arrows; that was less than ideal.  _ If,  _ on the other hand, he went along with her… perhaps he would finally get some answers. 

“I cannot leave my men.”

“You will see them again.” With three arrows aimed at him, Sabinus did not find that entirely reassuring. “Come,” she repeated, turning and walking deeper into the forest. He followed.

 

* * *

 

They walked for an entire day, and partly into the night; he was a bit shocked that the girl had the stamina to keep up such a grueling pace. The ground grew more rocky as they went, and they eventually veered west, further from the river that he had been following originally. The Northmen spoke to each other so rapidly and with such thick accents that he could make out almost nothing of what they said, save for Alfrún. He supposed it was because he already had some practice making out the lilting tone of her voice. 

She tried speaking to him, but Sabinus was too furious about his capture to be very forthcoming, and she eventually gave up. He spied the flickering of firelight in the distance eventually, after what seemed like an eternity walking in circles of snow, trees, and rock. Alfrún called them to a halt. “Your sword, Roman.” Sneering, he unlaced his belt, tossing it into the snow. Her eyebrows lifted. “Temper,” she remarked, bending to retrieve it. “Do not try anything foolish, and I guarantee your safety.”

The barbarian encampment was fairly small, perhaps large enough to accommodate one hundred men. The arrangement seemed slightly haphazard to him - a large oval of smaller tents was ringed the clearing in the woods, with others of various sizes scattered about within the center. “Where are your patrols?” he asked as they made their way into the clearing, unable to contain his curiosity. 

Alfrún waved her hand over her shoulder. “Out there. We passed them already.” She turned to grin at him. “You did not see them?” Sabinus scowled in response. “Keep near to me, Roman.”

She hailed the men standing watch as they made their way inside; they all looked quite happy to see her, and incredibly  _ unhappy _ to see him. They eventually reached a large fire pit, and the little barbarian turned to address the crowd that had gathered. “This  _ fine Roman _ soldier,” she declared loudly, clearly enunciating for his benefit, “is Commander Sabinus.” There were murmurs and a few jeers from the crowd, and he felt his spine stiffen. “Commander Sabinus,” Alfrún continued, winking at him, “is now my prisoner. He is not to be harmed.”

The men looked worryingly disappointed, and Sabinus’s anxiety grew. Could he really trust this tiny creature to keep him alive in the midst of a band of savages who clearly wished him dead? Spreading her hands, she added, “He is our honored guest! Let us show him our hospitality.” That garnered a few laughs, and the tension around the fire decreased slightly. 

“Sit with me,” she said, moving to take a seat on a log by the fire. “It is time to eat.”

Their food was acceptable, and he was surprised to find that the barbarians gave him an equal share. “Why am I not tied up?” he asked her softly. The unexpectedness of it all unnerved him. 

“If you wish to run off into the forest at night, Sebbi, you may do so. I  _ hope _ that you do not, for I would like to keep you alive.” She tore a bite out of a chunk of meat, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. “You will become lost, and you will freeze.”

“What do you want from me?”

Alfrún frowned slightly, lips pursed. “That can wait until morning. Eat. Enjoy the fire.” Then she stood and walked off with some of the other Northmen. Tired, hungry, and cold, he did as she said.

 

* * *

 

Sabinus sat outside by the fire until only embers remained, and after a while, the little barbarian rejoined him. “Ah,” she said, following his line of sight. “You look to the stars.”

He turned to regard her. In the firelight, she looked almost otherworldly, and he felt a flicker of some emotion that was yet foreign to him. “I used to study the stars, as a boy. Now, I focus on the things that are in front of me. It has been many years since I bothered to stop and appreciate the night sky.”

She nodded solemnly. “I like to imagine the other worlds,” she said, gesturing at the vast expanse of space. “To think of seeing them someday.”

“Other worlds?”

“Yes. Somewhere there is Asgard, Realm of the Gods. There are worlds of beauty. And of monsters,” she added, frowning thoughtfully at the lights scattered across the darkness. “But no man can know where.”

He laughed. “You think that your gods all reside up there, somewhere? In the air?”

“No,” she emphasized.  _ “Beyond.”  _ Sabinus looked at her with skepticism, and Alfrún crossed her arms across her chest. “Where do you believe the gods reside, Roman?”

“I am not particularly religious. However, I suppose it depends on the god. What good would Neptune, God of the Sea, do, were he somewhere up  _ there _ all the time? Of course, celestial bodies are different.”

She looked at him in confusion, and he realized that their pidgin language was failing him once again. “Such as the moon,” he explained, trying to use only words he knew in her tongue, “or the sun.”

“Ah,” she said, beaming.  _ “Sól.  _ Mother Sunna.”

“Is that your patron goddess?” Sabinus asked curiously. “I have seen your brooch.”

Alfrún grinned at him, fishing about in her layers of wool and furs for a moment before extending her palm, offering the little golden sun out for his inspection. “You might say so,” she said. “Sunna watches over all of mankind, giving us warmth and light.”

Sabinus lifted it carefully from her fingers, flipping it over to examine it. Holding it now, he was almost certain that the thing was real, solid gold, and likely worth a small fortune. “Are you some sort of priestess?” he asked. “Is that why some call you a witch?”

“Only fools call me a witch,” she scoffed. “I am only Alfrún. I am no priestess. I simply keep the flame alive. It is my task.”

“The flame?”

“The knowledge, the warmth.” Taking a step closer to him, she turned to look back at the night sky, and Sabinus could not help but to follow her gaze. The brooch was a heavy weight in his hand, almost as if it meant to signify the gravity of her words. “When Ragnarok comes,” Alfrún informed him, “the wolf Sköll will devour Sunna, and we will arise to keep the flame alight.”

“What in the name of Jove is Ragnarok, Alfrún?” he demanded, exasperated by her ramblings. The more distracted she became, the more her accent thickened, and the more she used words that he had not yet learned. 

Her brow lifted slightly as she turned to regard him, some unknown sadness shining in her eyes, despite the twinkling reflection of the heavens.  _ “Ragnarok, _ Sebbi, is the Twilight of the Gods. It is the end of all things, but it is also the beginning.”

“You believe that men will fight alongside gods when the world ends?”

“Yes, though I do not hope to live to see the day.” Sabinus gave a half-hearted hum of acknowledgement, and her lips turned up in a tired smile. “You do not believe me.”

“No,” he said, placing the brooch back in her hand. “But it does make an interesting story.”

“I am glad that you enjoyed it,” she said wryly, and he felt a pang of guilt. 

“Are you not cold?” Sabinus asked, suddenly eager to change the subject; he knew that  _ he _ certainly was cold. In fact, after this mission, he worried that he would never be warm again. 

“I am. I came to show you where you will be sleeping.”

He followed silently as she turned and moved off into the camp, a bit surprised, even despite his gentle treatment thus far, that they were not caging him up outside somewhere. It was a bit frightening to realize how certain they were that he would perish, should he attempt an escape on his own. Sabinus had no desire to freeze to death, lost in some barbarian wilderness. 

“Here we are.” Alfrún halted in front of a decently-sized tent in the middle of the camp, turning and beckoning him closer. For a moment, she simply studied him with narrowed eyes, before nodding decisively to herself. “I believe that I can trust you,” she declared, pulling aside the tent flap and gesturing for him to step inside.

Blinking rapidly, Sabinus halted just inside the entrance, unable to see much in the near-blackness. “Hold on,” the girl called out from somewhere to his left, and a moment later, a candle flickered to light in her hand. 

The interior of the tent was simple; it was clearly not an encampment intended to remain in one place for any significant amount of time, and he filed that information away for later. Just behind where the girl stood, there was a massive pile of blankets and furs, which reminded him somewhat of a nest. To his right were several covered baskets and bags, which he assumed held her most vital possessions. Wherever she was from originally, she clearly had not brought many luxuries along with her to war. 

“This is your tent,” he stated, feeling slightly uncertain. Did the little barbarian intend to tie him to the tent pole, as he had so unsuccessfully done with her?

“Yes,” she replied, setting her candle down on the ground and bending over to pull off her snow-covered boots. “There is more than enough room.” The girl continued to take off her outer layers of clothing, and Sabinus swallowed thickly, confused by this turn of events. As if she could sense his unease, she glanced up at him as she worked, eyes twinkling. “I hope that you are content with this. The others do not welcome a Roman into their tents.”

“No?” he questioned, both a little relieved and a little disappointed when she halted with her long-sleeved brown tunic and leggings still in place. Tossing herself into the bundle of furs with a sort of childish abandon that took him completely by surprise, she turned to watch him expectantly. He glanced down at the cold ground. “Will you give me a blanket, at least?”

The barbarian rolled her eyes with impatience. “You would freeze. Come.” She patted the space beside her in her nest, then moved further under the pile until only her face and hair remained visible, peering up at him with wide blue eyes. 

Sabinus stared in shock, wondering if the seemingly-intelligent little chieftainess was actually a bit addled. “With you?”

“Yes. It is safest. The others do not like you, yet.”

Hesitating, he had to admit that was true; he could not believe that the other Northmen had not put up more of a fight about his relative freedom. Her judgment must be very highly regarded among her clansmen.  _ He, _ on the other hand, was sincerely questioning her judgment, for it seemed to him a tremendous folly to keep an enemy unguarded and unrestrained so near to where one was sleeping.

“Sebbi?” She almost sounded anxious, as if she were worried about the cause of his reticence.  _ What is this girl?  _ he wondered, crouching to unlace his own boots. Still, far be it from him to point out her weaknesses. The more weaknesses Alfrún had, the easier this campaign would be for him. 

“I am coming.” He decided to strip down to the same amount of layering as her, trusting that she knew how warm the tent would remain during the night. Crawling into the furs beside her carefully, Sabinus was both astonished and a little ashamed to note that his heart was beating rather rapidly. 

“You can sleep without worry,” she informed him with surprising gravity, her face merely inches from his own, then she turned her back to him.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the tent long after her breathing had slowed in sleep, keeping himself perfectly still. Here he was,  _ Commander of the North, _ quite literally sleeping with the enemy; worse, he was her prisoner.  _ Even _ worse, she was a  _ woman, _ and a young, pretty one, at that. 

Killing her would be so,  _ so _ easy - she had left her dagger belt out in plain sight, and he had a niggling suspicion that his sword could be found somewhere amongst the rest of her possessions. Really, a weapon was not even necessary; she knew that, too. She had admitted as much when she ambushed him alone that day in the snow. 

But how would it benefit him? It would strike a blow against the barbarians, perhaps, since the girl was obviously valuable to them, but someone else would surely take her place and continue harassing his camps, and he would likely end up frozen under a tree somewhere. Sabinus assured himself that killing the girl in her sleep would be a terrible tactical misstep. 

Really, though, Sabinus also saw it as a matter of personal honor; the girl had not harmed him when she’d freed herself and escaped while he was sleeping, and he felt that he owed her the same courtesy. He did not want her dead, in any case. Alfrún had a compelling sort of joy about her, a light that was beginning to fascinate him. Barbarian or no, he hoped that she might survive the coming battles unscathed. Was that wrong of him? Likely so.

Her little fur nest was warm, made more so by the heat radiating from her body. Turning his head, he examined the tangle of hair and braids and the gentle movement of her back. How could she be so peaceful, with him so close?  _ “I believe that I can trust you,”  _ she had said.

Rolling away from her, Sabinus forced himself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, she woke him with a hard shove. “Duty calls, Roman.”

Squinting in the dim morning light, he tensed suddenly as his memories of the previous day made themselves known. He was a prisoner of the barbarians - a prisoner of Alfrún. He was a prisoner that had been allowed to sleep in his enemy’s bed, supposedly for his safety and comfort. Sabinus groaned. “What do you want from me?” he asked once again.

“To negotiate,” the girl replied, pulling on her heavy outer layers; he found himself a bit saddened to see her form disappear. “Despite what you think, Sebbi, I am no clan chieftain. I am more of a  _ commander.” _ She smirked at their shared title, wrapping her dagger-belt around her waist. “You will have to prove your worth to the others.”

“To the others? What is my worth to  _ you?” _

“Enough to keep you alive.” Sabinus sighed; he had been inquiring after the quality, not the quantity. Alfrún tossed one of his boots at him. “Get dressed.”

“No baths for barbarians, eh?” he remarked scathingly, desperate to unsettle her odd cheerfulness. 

Her eyes widened slightly, and he could tell that he had only managed to entertain her further. “Do you keep a bathhouse in your war-camp, Roman?”

“No.”

“We are the same.” She combed through her long hair with her fingers, frowning when she caught on any tangles, before deftly pulling several strands into tight braids. Realizing that he was strangely transfixed, Sabinus tore his gaze away, choosing instead to focus on his clothing.

“Will you return my sword?”

“Did you return my dagger?”

He chose not to reply. The little barbarian watched with amusement as he fastened his cloak, and he tried to keep his own expression serious. “Let us go.”

Expecting to be led back to the bonfire where they had gathered the night before, Sabinus was surprised when she escorted him instead to a nearby tent. Stepping inside, he was faced with the disapproving glares of half a dozen Northmen of varying ages. 

“Jarl Oraldr,” she introduced, nodding to a tall blond man with piercing grey eyes. “Here is the Roman, Commander Sabinus.”

The jarl sighed. “You are young,” he said slowly, though his accented, booming voice was still difficult for Sabinus to understand. He wondered, yet again, why he seemed to have an easier time with Alfrún. “If I did not see it, I would not believe.”

One of the other men said something that he could not catch, and the girl fired back just as quickly, sounding irritated. “Cease,” the jarl commanded, slightly vexed. “He is the prisoner of Alfrún; her voice has greater weight.”

“The choice,” Alfrún explained, taking notice of Sabinus’s confused expression, “is whether to keep you, or trade you.”

“Trade me?”

“For my men. I want them back, Sebbi. There are others, as well, men from this camp. I want them all.”

It was a bit of a relief to hear this, for he had originally feared that by ‘trade,’ the Northmen referred to selling him off as a slave. “How many men?”

“Thirty. This includes the men who were captured with me.”

Sabinus laughed, earning more angry looks from the men in the room, though the jarl seemed to understand his words, at least. “This trade is unbalanced. I will not agree to it.”

“You may not, Roman, but your people will. I am sure if it.”

“And if they do not?”

The girl grinned. “Then I keep you.” She switched to pure Latin then, startling him. “You were sent by the emperor. I know this.”

“Alfrún!” one of the men barked. “Do not speak their tongue.” 

She lifted her hands in apology. “It is easier,” she said, “to use what I know. Forgive me, Brother.”

“Will your camp allow a messenger?” the jarl inquired. “Or will they attack, like men without honor?”

Though he bristled slightly at the insult to Roman morality, Sabinus knew that it was a fair question. “I can write a letter, if you wish.”

“I like this plan,” Alfrún announced, smiling pleasantly at the men who towered around her. “So it shall be.” Abruptly, she turned and left the tent, and Sabinus hurried to follow, a bit concerned as to what might befall him if he remained behind without her. 

“That angry man is your brother?” he asked. They did not appear to have much in common. 

“Not blood-kin,” she said, heading in the general direction of her tent. “My family is dead.”

The solemnity that he had seen only glimpses of had suddenly returned to her. “How did they die?”

“Murdered.” She did not elaborate, and he suddenly felt afraid to ask. 

“Why do you campaign alongside these men?”

“Why do they listen to a girl, you mean?” Her lips turned upwards in a knowing smile, though she kept her eyes ahead. “I told you, I have a responsibility. They know this. I can see and do things that they cannot.”

“But it is dangerous.”

“For my enemies, perhaps.” Sabinus frowned at her careless attitude. “Wait here,” she ordered, ducking back into her tent. 

When she emerged, his sword was in one hand, and she held a blade he’d never seen before in the other. “Take it,” she said, offering him his hilt. 

He did as she said, though he was baffled by her intentions. Was she going to make him fight one of her men?

Alfrún led him to an open space near the edge of the forest, out of sight from the rest of the camp. “Face me, Roman,” she called out with a wide grin, pointing her sword at his chest. 

“Now, Alfrún,” Sabinus began, keeping his sword at his side, “I readily admit that you ambushed me with great skill, but this is madness.”

“Is it?” She pulled the dagger from her belt with her left hand, flipping it experimentally. “Show me.” Lunging forward with a speed that shocked him, the girl slashed at him with her sword; he barely had time to react. 

“Stop this,” he growled, parrying yet another wild slash. She was elemental, uncontrolled; it was everything he had been trained  _ not  _ to do when he fought, but it was  _ working. _

“Make me, Sebbi,” Alfrún laughed, somehow managing to duck under his arm, and then he felt the flat of a blade slam against his unprotected neck; it felt red-hot, and Sabinus cursed, testing the tender skin with the fingers of his free hand as he spun away. 

“What  _ was _ that, girl?”

“A lesson. Do you still doubt me?”

Fueled by anger and the lingering burning sensation, he managed to knock the sword from her hand, though he almost wondered if that had been part of her plan, for she immediately switched the dagger to her right hand, darting forward with no hint of the hesitation he would’ve expected from an enemy just disarmed. 

She grazed his ribs, and though his heavy layers caught most of the blow, he still hissed at the sting of it.  _ Forget the rules, _ he thought, and then he dropped his sword, too, catching her from behind, grabbing her wrist in one hand and her hair in the other. “Drop it,” he snarled, but she only laughed, stomping backwards decisively in an attempt to hit his ankle. 

He increased the pressure on her wrist, releasing his hold on her hair to wrap his arm around her throat. It felt like he was wrestling a wildcat, but Sabinus was relieved to have the upper hand. “Submit.”

Gasping for air, she finally relinquished her tenacious hold on the blade, and he was about to release her when her elbow suddenly slammed against his lower ribs. He winced in pain, but did not let go.  _ “Submit,  _ Alfrún.”

Then suddenly it felt as if he were holding fire itself, and he cried out in surprise as he shoved her away from him as hard as he could, panting heavily. 

There was laughter and applause, and it was only then that Sabinus realized that they had attracted an audience; but why had the Northmen not intervened? He stood there for a moment rubbing his sore neck, watching as the little barbarian did the same to her own. “You fight well, Sebbi,” she called. “A draw, I think.”

In normal circumstances, he would have considered a draw to be a failure, but in that moment, Sabinus had no desire to fight on. What had she  _ done _ to him? 

A dark-haired Northman with a drinking horn shouted something out, and the other men laughed. Alfrún retrieved her sword from the ground, leaning on it as she studied him. “He says that you are more fearsome than you appear, to handle me so.”

“What did you  _ do, _ woman? Tell me,” he demanded. Though he felt no lingering pain, the memory of the sensation burning through his veins was strong. 

“I made you feel the fire.” There was something smug in her eyes, but also…  _ well, _ Sabinus might have described it as fearful, as if she were exposing some great secret. 

Raking his fingers through his close-cropped, curly hair, he tried to regain his breath. She had used  _ magic _ on him, was that what she was suggesting? He had not believed such things existed. 

_ How do you turn this in your favor? _ he asked himself. The Northmen watching them seemed relatively impressed, or entertained, at the very least, and he decided to pursue that route. “Food?” he called out tiredly, blatantly ignoring the fearsome little witch before him. “Ale, perhaps?”

Grinning, one of the men waved him forward, and he retrieved his sword, following the lot of them back to the cooking fire. 

 

* * *

 

Nearly three weeks passed in the blink of an eye, and the camp moved several times, though he had a difficult time keeping up with where they were headed, for the Northmen took twisting, convoluted paths through the forest. He supposed that was their intention. The missive he had written for them had been sent back to his encampment, and his men, much to his consternation, had agreed to the girl’s terms.

Now, it was simply a matter of waiting until the prisoners she demanded could be assembled in his camp, as it remained the most northern Roman post; in the meantime, he hoped that he could learn more of their ways and movements as they brought him along from place to place. Men, and occasionally women, came and went, so he  _ knew _ that they must be close to actual villages, but he never saw one.

Sabinus continued to be both pleased and alarmed by how easily the majority of the barbarians seemed to accept him into their daily camp life. Oh, they took his sword away except when he was sparring, and they kept eyes on him at all times, but that was a small price to pay for the freedom they afforded him. 

The man Alfrún had referred to as “Brother” was one of the few who continued to seem rankled by his very presence, but he did not seem willing to do anything about it. With the jarl and his men gone back to  _ wherever _ they were from, the girl seemed to be in charge of the camp, and though the others might bicker with her and tease her, they also bent to her authority. At mealtimes, his share was always equal to theirs, and he remained unfettered; this treatment continued to mystify him. 

He would train with them during the day, or sit around the fire and practice at their language, and several of the men seemed immensely amused by the simple fact that he seemed  _ interested _ in their stories and songs. It was from one of these men, a boisterous young fellow named Óli, that he learned that the girl was without a clan. “Alfrún is the last of her kin,” he’d said, his face losing some of its typical joviality. “Most of the kingdoms in the North accept her as one of their own, but her home was lost to her years ago.”

Almost all of the men seemed incredibly fond of his little captor, and he was treated to countless tales of her exploits. She could see into a man’s soul, one barbarian claimed; another spoke of her uncanny ability to learn the languages of the kingdoms and tribes she had visited. He’d experienced her fighting ability first-hand and was unsurprised to learn that most of the men thought her quite a fearsome warrior. 

The days passed, and the two became almost inseparable. Though he told himself it was a strategic move on his part, to nurture a bond between them, he could not truly deny that the bond felt  _ real. _ Sabinus showed the girl some Latin letters, and she taught him a few runes. She told him more of her gods, and he shared tales of his own. He’d even shown her a few Roman sword forms, even though he knew he should not do so; in return, Alfrún had helped him to practice with throwing blades. They were, the  _ both _ of them, preparing their own enemy for battle; it was a harsh reality that both of them seemed hesitant to address.

If and when they eventually met in battle, Sabinus knew that he must do his duty - he owed that to his men, to his emperor, to _ Rome… _  but the girl continued to ensnare him with her infectious laugh and sweet, lilting voice, and with the carefree way she fought. Their hands would brush, and he would swear that he could feel a spark of warmth run through him, or he would pin her when they sparred, and she would blush. 

It concerned him, but still, he did nothing to stop it; neither did she.

At night, he would return to Alfrún’s tent, where the two continued to fall asleep back to back, space carefully kept between them, a candle or two left lit. For a time, he wondered why, then he came to a startling realization; bold though she was, the little commander was afraid of the dark. Rather than the disdain he should feel at such a childlike weakness, instead, Sabinus felt…  _ protective. _ The space between them at night grew smaller, fraction by fraction, until they were eventually sleeping with their backs pressed together. Still, they did not address it.

Still, the longing continued to kindle, hidden behind stubbornness and fear. 

Then, one fatal night, something changed, and though Sabinus did not know it at the time, the course of his life changed with it. 

He awoke midway through the night with the girl in his arms, curled against his side, her head resting in the crook of his arm. Appalled, Sabinus froze, mind racing; it was clear that he was becoming too attached. If he had somehow managed to convince himself otherwise previously,  _ that  _ certainly proved it - that, along with the fact that he did not  _ want _ to move away.

It was easier to pretend that she was not a rather pretty young woman when they were out in the camp with the other men, her small form hidden under layers of wool and fur, but now… Now there were only a few layers separating them, and the decidedly feminine softness of her was difficult to ignore. She sighed into his ear, moving slightly closer to him in her sleep, and Sabinus felt himself stir. 

Surrendering to baser instinct, he slid his hand along her waist and hip, admiring the fascinating combination of taut muscle and smooth curves. Did such a creature exist in all of Rome? He did not think it likely. Her eyes suddenly blinked open, so close that he could see every fleck of grey hidden in the blue. “Sebbi,” she whispered, “what are you doing?”

“I am touching you, Alfrún,” he replied, feeling abnormally bold. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

The answer was not what he had expected, though it  _ was, _ he admitted to himself, what he had  _ hoped _ for, and his fingers dug into her hip in a mixture of excitement and surprise. Keeping her firmly held against his side with his right arm, he allowed his free hand to cautiously explore, sliding under the edge of her tunic to skim his fingers along her stomach. Alfrún released another breathy sigh, and it emboldened him to explore further, moving his hand to gently cup one of her breasts.  _ Wicked temptress,  _ he thought, groaning as she wrapped her leg around his waist. 

He wanted to  _ see  _ her, and he pulled the girl on top of him so that he could free her from her tunic entirely. Though she did not protest, she covered herself with her hands once she was bare, her blush visible even in the dim candlelight. Sabinus felt his breath catch in his throat as he tugged her hands away, marveling at the perfection that he had somehow managed to find in the supposedly-desolate North. 

Perhaps it was because, as Rufus had suggested, she was a barbarian, and barbarians were meant to be used. Perhaps it was because she was his rival in war, and this was one of the most pleasurable ways that he could think of to conquer her. Or,  _ perhaps _ it was because she was beautiful and wild, and he wanted nothing more than to possess her, if only for one night. Whatever the reason, Sabinus took hold of her long hair and pulled her down for a kiss, one that he was suddenly certain that he  _ needed. _

Alfrún’s movements were tentative at first, shy, but she slowly began to respond to his fervor, and he felt her fingers slide through his curls. Twining his arm around her waist, he pressed her flush against his chest, wanting  _ more,  _ craving the feel of her, the heat. She broke away from his kiss, and he felt her lips against his ear, panting softly.  _ “Please,” _ she whispered. 

“Please  _ what, _ Alfrún?” His teeth found her neck, and he bit down lightly, some sort of feral pride rushing through him at the way it made her moan. 

They  _ both _ needed this, he reasoned. The girl was beautiful, and she was  _ begging _ for his touch. It would not change anything, not in the end. When he returned to his men, he could put this behind him, set his traitorous feelings aside. He told himself that it was no different than if he’d bedded her when he’d first captured her. 

But it was. 

She rocked her hips experimentally against him, and it was at that point Sabinus decided that patience was beyond his current abilities. Sitting up suddenly, he began to tug his own tunic over his head, Alfrún’s eager fingers tracing along his skin as soon as it was revealed. He tossed it aside with reckless abandon, nearly knocking over one of the flickering candles; even if it had caught fire, in that moment, he would not have cared.

It was cold out, he knew, and exposed to the air like this, he should feel the chill. Instead, he was filled with heat, passionate and comforting and  _ perfect. _

_ Dulcissima, _ he thought as he kissed her again, for surely nothing could be as sweet as her lips. Their breeches posed a problem, an obstacle, and Sabinus wanted them  _ gone.  _ He rolled them over, an awkward tangle of blankets and limbs and exploring hands. Kneeling between her legs, he sat back for a moment, simply admiring the flush to her cheeks, the way her breasts rose and fell as she panted for air. She lifted her hips as he tugged her breeches down, though once she was free of them, she seemed to freeze. 

“Sebbi?” she said hesitantly, and he was surprised to find that the nickname sent a rush of fire through him. 

“Yes, Alfrún?” He crowded over her, lavishing attention on her enticing breasts, and she gasped, curving up against his mouth as if to offer easier access. 

“I am frightened.”

He paused to look up at her, slightly confused. “You should not be.” Surely she knew that he could not possibly bring himself to harm her right  _ then, _ no matter what the morning might bring. 

His fingers slid between her thighs, and she squirmed against his touch, a soft mewling sound escaping her as her eyes fluttered closed. Marveling at the slickness he found there, her  _ responsiveness,  _ he brought his lips to her ear. “You desire me,” he whispered, peppering kisses along her jawline. 

“I desire you,” she sighed, turning her head to seek his mouth, and as she kissed him and desperately bit his lip, any last doubts he might have held suddenly fled. Reaching down, he freed himself from his breeches, sliding against her, capturing one of her hands in his and twining their fingers together. Alfrún’s eyes were dark, hazy with lust and something else he did not recognize; she seemed so  _ wanton  _ \- it was captivating, and he could not look away.

One of her legs settled loosely around his hips as she undulated beneath him, and needing no further encouragement, he began to press into her, gritting his teeth at the overwhelming sensation of tightness and heat. Met with unexpected resistance mid-thrust, he realized belatedly that he had closed his eyes, and he opened them to find the girl wincing slightly, her bottom lip between her teeth. “Alfrún,” he began, suddenly uncertain, “are you - “

She reached up and grabbed a fistful of his curls, dragging his face closer to hers, a determined, pleading look in her eye. “Do not stop,” she said, leaning up to place a surprisingly soft kiss against the corner of his mouth.  _ “Please, _ Sabinus, do not stop.”

He could not deny her, or perhaps he simply could not deny himself, but he endeavored to be more gentle as he seated himself fully within her, and her head rocked back as she exhaled shakily, tugging his head down to her neck. Keeping his hips as still as he was able, he instead turned his attention to her delicate throat, distracting her from her discomfort with his tongue and teeth. When she began to move against him, he could hold back no longer, and he withdrew slowly, entranced by her ragged gasps as he thrust back inside of her, and the smoldering fire in her eyes when he did it again, and then again. It was a cruel, unhurried torture, and he was content to let the both of them burn. 

Groaning in frustration, she released her grip on his hair, digging her fingers instead into the muscle of his lower back. “Roman,  _ please,” _ she demanded, flushed cheeks taking on an even deeper tinge, and despite the fatalistic sort of intensity surrounding the moment, he smiled.

“Please what?” he asked roughly, continuing his maddeningly slow pace. “What do you want?” She was panting in earnest then, a hint of a glare beginning to form behind the cloud of lust in her eyes, and he decided to have mercy on the both of them. “I know what you want.” With a harsh kiss, he let go of his self-control, the speed of his thrusts increasing, growing more insistent. Her hips soon found a rhythm to match his own, and the fingers of her captured hand squeezed against his with a fierce grip. 

Sooner than he could have anticipated, he felt the girl begin to tense and tremble underneath him, and the delicious, confused look in her eyes nearly sent him over the edge there and then. “I know what you want,” he repeated breathlessly, settling his weight over her more firmly so that he could free his supporting hand to grip her hip. “Let go, Alfrún.”

The sensations that assaulted him then were overwhelming, both the sweet sting of pain as she bit down on his shoulder to muffle her moan, and the feeling of her coming undone around him, bucking erratically, her short fingernails digging into his back. His answering groan as he met his own end was buried in her golden hair as he collapsed on top of her, hips pumping a few final times in an effort to prolong the sensation. 

Attempting to catch his breath, Sabinus rolled to his side, afraid that he was crushing her small form under his weight. The girl flinched slightly as he withdrew, and feeling that strange protective instinct flare in his chest, he pulled her into his arms, fumbling about for a blanket to cover them both as the chill of the air once again began to make itself known. 

As she nuzzled against his bare chest, he stroked the silky skin of her back absently, wondering where it had all gone so  _ wrong. _ He should not have been so easily captured by a barbarian, should not have developed a camaradiere with her, should not have made love to her… but he had. “You are beautiful,” he murmured, watching the light of one of the candles flicker somewhere in the darkness beyond her. It needed to be said.

He felt her lips press against his breastbone. “I do not want you to leave.”

There was nothing Sabinus could say to that; he  _ had _ to leave, and it would be soon. They both knew it, just as they both knew that they would still be on opposing sides of a conflict much larger than themselves once they left the tent in the morning. He would not betray his people, and neither would she. Instead, he simply held her close until she fell asleep. 

But sleep evaded him, and as the warmth of their passion dulled, the cold and the darkness closed in, wracking him with guilt and despair. Despite his taunts when they had first met, he had assumed that the girl was no maiden; barbarians were considered to have rather loose morality, and she  _ did _ live in a camp of rough fighting men. Alfrún had never seemed particularly bashful or modest, and he had thought… But what he’d thought did not matter, for he had been wrong, and he should have seen the signs much,  _ much _ sooner.  _ Why me? _ he wondered.  _ Why choose me? _

They had perhaps a week, at most, before he would return to his command and she would gain her tribesmen back. What was he to do then? War was a necessary precursor to peace - that was the Roman way; it was not as if he could forestall the entire northern campaign simply because he’d lain with one barbarian girl. She  _ knew _ that. She knew that he would not yield, yet she had given herself to him willingly, all the same.  _ Why? _

 

* * *

 

“Sebbi.” Her soft voice woke him from slumber, and he stiffened as he realized that they were both still naked, and that it had not been a dream. There was a slight smile on her lips as she hovered over him, but her blue eyes were mournful, and Sabinus felt his throat constrict.  _ “Carpe diem.” _

A small, startled huff escaped him; it might have been a laugh, had things been less dire. Seizing the day was the last thing on his mind, at that moment. Did she intend to pretend that nothing had happened? He sat up, trailing his fingers along her cheek as her eyes fluttered closed. How could he pretend, when the memory was so fresh, so overwhelming? How could he pretend, when the marks from his mouth still littered the pale skin of her neck? Glancing down at his shoulder, he found that she had managed to mark him, as well, and traitorous lust spiralled through him once again at the sight of it. 

“I feel no regret,” she began, “nor do I ask for any vow.”

His fingers slid down her throat, and he thought back to that first night in her tent, when he had considered how easy it would be to simply kill her.  _ One less barbarian, _ he thought bitterly. If only things were so simple. “I can offer you no vow,” he replied. 

“I will not falter.”

“I will not falter,” Sabinus repeated, taking her hand. 

“I will do what I must, when we meet again.”

“I will do what I must,” he agreed solemnly, strangely feeling as though these  _ were _ their vows, a cruel parody of next-morning promises that should have been sweet and comforting. Perhaps that was their fate. 

Then, he kissed her.

 

* * *

 

A stolen kiss, sadly, could not halt time, and the pair emerged from Alfrún’s tent not long after dawn, unable to avoid the inevitable any longer. Sabinus was suddenly fearful as they stepped out into the camp, wondering what the Northmen would do to him if they discovered their illicit tryst, what they might do to  _ her. _ “You are promised to no one?” he asked lightly, trying not to betray the weight of his inquiry, in case they were overheard.

A small smile graced her features. “No, Roman, though it is not for lack of trying.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am told that I am…” she looked to the heavens, searching for words, “difficult to  _ tame.” _

“Ah.” She had been pliant enough for  _ him, _ he thought, a sort of possessive pride taking root within his heart. “You are a warrior, Alfrún.” 

“Yes.” The girl grinned, brushing her hair back over her shoulder, and his eyes widened in worry as the unthinking motion revealed a previously-hidden bruise just below her jaw. There were too many men around them now; he could do nothing to fix it. “What of you, Sebbi?”

“What?” he asked, distracted.

“Have you a woman, in your lands?”

“No,” he replied, slightly appalled at the thought. “I should, in truth. I am old enough, and I am the head of my family since my father died, but I have rejected all attempts.” In fact, his refusal to give more consideration to the possible brides his younger brother selected was one of many sticking points in their relationship; Sabinus had no desire to scheme and wed his way into power. He wanted to  _ earn _ it, though his own merits alone.

“Why do you reject them?”

Frowning, he tried to think of a way to put his thoughts into words. “I do not know them,” he said finally. “I would never see them, for I am always in the capital or on campaign. They would only serve to bear my heirs, as my brother Otho already manages our family household, and that seems…” sighing, he trailed off, at a loss for words.

“Cruel?” the girl suggested.

“It is not what I want. There is no purpose to such a union.”

Alfrún looked away, biting her lip thoughtfully. “What if your emperor demands it?”

He studied her calm expression carefully, acutely aware that there was something more to the question than what she was revealing. “Does your king demand that you wed?”

“I have no king,” the girl replied breezily, “for I am without clan, but many of the chieftains believe it best.”

The cooking fire was already blazing, and they took a seat next to it. “They want you tied to one clan,” he guessed. “A firm declaration of loyalty.” The soldier in him stored away the information that the Northmen apparently did not share as much trust between tribes as it might seem, while the man himself was filled with irritation at the thought of such a powerful, beautiful fighter being used as nothing more than a bargaining tool in some barbarian tribal rivalry.

“It is true.” 

They spoke of more innocuous things as they ate, trying to ease the tension that still hung heavy around them, but they were not entirely successful. Sabinus felt eyes on them, and he glanced up to see the man she called  _ Brother _ watching them through the flames. Illhugi, he suddenly remembered, was the man’s name. He looked at Alfrún, but she did not seem to have noticed.

“Alfrún,” he whispered, and she stood suddenly, tossing her scraps into the fire. 

“I know,” she replied, hands on her hips as she stared back boldly across the crackling flames, waiting. She was forcing the other man to come to her, Sabinus realized, to reassert her authority; it was clever, simple display of power. The girl would make an excellent queen. 

Illhugi stalked around the fire, one of his other companions by his side, and Sabinus noticed that they had begun to draw attention from the other barbarians. “You wish to air a grievance, Brother?” Alfrún asked, somehow managing to appear as if she were looking down on the man, though he stood much taller.

“You allow the Roman to cloud your senses, Alfrún,” Illhugi accused, sending Sabinus a look filled with malice. “You think yourself above our laws, taking him to bed?”

“The Roman is valuable, he is  _ mine, _ and I keep him where he is secure,” the little barbarian replied, fire in her eyes. “Perhaps if you had managed to capture anyone, Brother, you would understand.” The man and his compatriot both stiffened, and Sabinus heard a hiss of surprise from one of the onlookers nearby. 

“The law - “ Illhugi’s companion began, but Alfrún cut him off decisively. 

“I am the law here.” Her hand fell to the dagger at her side, and she smiled cheerily. “Unless you wish to challenge me, Úbeinn?”

Sabinus did not dare to stand, worried that it might trigger an even worse reaction from the Northmen, most of whom now looked rather grim. Óli stepped up beside the girl then, more serious than Sabinus had ever seen him before. “If you do not agree with Alfrún’s ways,” he said, “then go back to your own clan.”

_ So,  _ he realized, that explained the difficulty he had understanding the accents of so many of these Northmen; they were from different tribes and kingdoms, united only against a common enemy: Rome. Thankfully, most of the men seemed to be on the side of his little barbarian, and Illhugi visibly backed down. “You dishonor your ancestors,” he said stiffly, then he stormed away, a few men following him as the crowd parted to allow him passage.

“He will not leave,” the girl said, turning towards the other Northmen at her side. “We are stronger together.”

Óli clasped her shoulder for a moment, smiling encouragingly. “And most of us recognize this.” But then his smile faltered, and his gaze slid to Sabinus. The mark on her neck, he realized, had been noted, and his stomach dropped. “Sister,” Óli said gently, tugging her cloak closer to her neck, “are you not cold?” He stared at her meaningfully, and Alfrún’s eyes widened after a moment in realization, turning slightly pink. 

“I am,” she replied, pulling her hair over her shoulder. “The winter grows cold.”

“The winter grows cold,” he agreed, then he turned and walked away, sending one final, curious glance at Sabinus, who released a shaky breath that he did not realize he had been holding. He should be happy, as an enemy commander, to see strife sown among the barbarians, but instead, he was concerned; would Óli tell the others? Had Illhugi truly surrendered? The risk was great, and he should ask her to send him to another tent to sleep that night, to allay any suspicions.

But Sabinus could not bring himself to do so, and that night found the sweet little barbarian in his arms once more.

 

* * *

 

They marched south across the frosty ground in near-silence, the mood of the group apprehensive. Alfrún had only brought two dozen men along to make the exchange; he knew she feared an ambush and wished to keep her main force safe and hidden away in the wilderness.

After a month, Sabinus was more than ready to return to his own people. He felt almost like a different man, his curly hair longer than ever before, his face unshaven for the first time he could remember. But returning to his own people meant leaving  _ her, _ and that was more difficult to accept.

They had made their farewells in the privacy of her tent that morning, and Sabinus had been attempting to harden his heart ever since. “We will meet again, Roman,” she had said, an odd smile crossing her features. He had no doubt that they  _ would _ meet again; he would push his armies northwards, and Alfrún would be there, waiting for him. It was what he feared, more than anything else.

He began to recognize familiar territory as they neared his encampment, and his tension increased. The girl’s dagger appeared in her hand, and she looked to him solemnly. “If your men betray our terms, Sabinus, I will not release you.” Nodding, he took in the fearsome sight of her; she wore her own sword strapped to her back, and his blade currently hung at her side. She had promised to return it when they parted.

“Will you kill me?” he asked suddenly. It was what she  _ should _ do, if things went poorly, to show the Romans that she was not to be trifled with, not to be out-maneuvered. 

Her blue eyes turned to him in a long, searching look. “I will do what I must,” she said simply. 

The memory of that day in the snow came to him with sudden clarity, Alfrún perched on top of him, blade at his throat.  _ No, _ he thought, she would not kill him - perhaps in battle, but not like this. 

A small troop of his men waited just north of the camp, surrounding the thirty bound barbarian prisoners, all of whom looked rather irate. Rufus, in particular, looked as if he would be particularly pleased if a fight were to erupt. The girl gripped his arm, steering him forward as the rest of the Northman held back further in the forest. “Release my men,” she cried out in Latin, “then my captive will be freed.”

Rufus waved his hand, and the soldiers stepped aside, allowing half of the Northmen to quickly hurry past her and into the woods. She frowned, and Sabinus felt her fingers dig deeper into his arm. “The others after the commander is released,” Rufus said, smiling grimly.  _ Of course, _ Sabinus thought ruefully,  _ who would trust the word of a barbarian? _

Alfrún released him, pulling his sword from her belt and presenting it to him, handle-first. “Go with the gods, Sabinus,” she said softly, though her eyes spoke volumes more.

“Go with the gods, Alfrún.” He took it and walked away from her, signalling for his men to release the rest of the prisoners as he made his way towards them, hoping that the girl knew to retreat far, far away. Sabinus ordered his men to stand down, and Rufus threw an arm around his shoulders, leading him back into the camp, peppering him with questions. 

He did not look back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Thank you for

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for stopping by to check out this side story/prequel to The Gladiator! What started out as a little bit of OC-character-backstory-building exercise quickly took over the writing part of my brain, so here we are!
> 
> As in The Gladiator, I'm playing fast and loose with historical accuracy here: imagine the "Northmen" to be sort of a blend between the actual Norsemen of medieval times and the Gauls. 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think! <3  
> MoA


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